Wonderland
by Destined To Repeat
Summary: When time runs out. Oz's second and final exile to the abyss.


_"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer's day;_  
_The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts, and took them clean away._  
_The King of Hearts called for the tarts, and beat the Knave full sore;_  
_The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts, and vowed he'd steal no more."_

**-Wonderland**

"Will you stop fidgeting," Alice cried. She probably would have been exasperated, her hands on her hips, if she wasn't smiling brightly at him, and Oz, grinning back, wondered if that meant he had to listen to her or not. The scowl that would normally have etched itself all over her face by now had been tossed aside, replaced by a perpetually cheerful, acquiescent smile, and Oz knew that if he looked in a mirror, he'd see the same on his own face.

Oz didn't mind. Here, in his newer, better world, they had no need for anything but smiles. Sometimes they still used other expressions, but those were always followed by a smile, or hiding a smile. His world was perfect, perfect, perfect. It wasn't just that everything was happy here. No, it was even better— His world was, quite simply, made of nothing. Nothing, and nothing, and him and Alice, who were nothing too. So, inherently, they never got angry, and they never got sad, and they always had fun, always, always, always, because you can't take nothing too seriously.

Everything was a joke here. Here, in his very own perfect, perfect world. The only problem, Oz thought, was that it wasn't real.

But that was the point, wasn't it?

"It's your fault for leaving it open," Oz said, but leaned back into his high, pillowed chair anyway. "I know you're just doing it to tease me."

Alice giggled. "Would I do that to you, Oz?"

Oz raised an eyebrow at her, smiling, and she smirked back.

"Can't I just go see how high it is?" the boy begged finally, letting the fidgety eagerness seep into his voice. "I won't jump."

"It's quite high enough to break your neck from," she replied simply, refilling his tea, and Oz pouted, taking that as a no.

He picked up the newly-filled cup and sipped at it, still eyeing the long, lilac curtains and the open patio door they framed. Past the door was a splendidly tempting carved-stone ledge, and far, far beneath that was the ground, and in between the two was a drop far enough to kill.

Holding back a shiver of anticipation, his gaze glued to the very edge of the railing, where open air kissed corrugated white stone, Oz thought, _Alice is such a tease._

"You can jump after you've finished your tea," Alice said sternly, like a mother threatening no dessert for children that don't clean their plates, noticing his blatant fascination.

Oz ripped his gaze away from the open patio, turning instead to sigh into his drink. "Alright," he said, and smiled.

She smiled back at him, and after a long moment of sitting there, smiling at each other, he said at last, "I suppose you expect me to initiate the small talk."

Alice's smile widened, just slightly.

Oz thought. He searched his brain for something light and fun to discuss. He rubbed his chin. Although it had never helped his thought process any, he thought it looked impressive. He considered discussing that with Alice, but somehow he figured she wouldn't appreciate the intricacies of chin-rubbing.

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to kill?" he asked, voicing the first idea that came to him.

"All the time," Alice replied.

Oz nodded. "Mostly, though, I wonder what it's like on the other end—what it would be like to die. Do you think it's as easy as people say? Dying, I mean."

"I should hope not," Alice said, grinning.

"But who knows, right?" Oz said agreeably. "I think the belief that death is peaceful and quick is a fable told to put grieving family and friends at ease. Something in me can't seem to believe that it's as painless as they say it is. I mean, everybody saying that nonsense has got to still be in the world—which means that they've never actually _done _the whole dying thing, so why should they know the process any better than I do?"

Alice looked at him, mixing her tea slowly, a thoughtful smile on her face. "I'd like for death to be long and painful, personally," she said. "Who wants to leave the world all calm and fulfilled like a wise old hermit? Death is supposed to be dramatic. I want to go kicking and screaming, if at all possible taking out a couple eyes besides. And it makes more sense that way, doesn't it? People come _into _the world squirming and shrieking. Why shouldn't they go out the same way?"

"I'm not so into the taking-out-eyes thing," Oz said, shrugging as he lifted his cup to his mouth. "I'm not so picky— I just want my money's worth when I die. Dying in your sleep leaves _so_ much to be desired."

She nodded understandingly. "I like the bloody deaths too."

"Speaking of…" Oz trailed off, letting his eyes drift back to the ledge.

Alice laughed. "I _said,_ finish your tea!"

Hastily he took a swig so long he almost choked on it, and Alice laughed some more.

"Choking on tea is a stupid way to die too," she teased. Oz rolled his eyes at her, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.

"What do _you_ think is the best way to die?" he asked, curious.

She _hmm_ed thoughtfully. "I'm stuck between drowning and burning to death," she confessed. "Both have their pros and cons, you know? Both have the… the, uh…" She wiggled her arms around in an octopus-like pantomime, searching for the right word, "the flailing about. And both, I'm told, are rather painful. Fire more so, but it also leaves the body totally indistinguishable. I mean, just because I'd like to have a messy, violent death doesn't mean I want to _look_ it. What about you, Oz?"

"I like the emotionally dramatic deaths, myself. Suicide, taking a bullet for somebody else. That kind of thing," he replied, popping a tiny, delicate-looking chocolate into his mouth. "I think the ideal would be to die for either you or Gi…." He paused mid-word; frowned.

"Gi…?" Alice prompted, curiously.

"I…" Suddenly his mouth was dry, and he swallowed before he could realize that he was holding a cup of tea already. "I don't know. Uh… Gi…" he tried again, willing the rest of the name to appear in his mind. But his memory remained blank, almost resolutely so, like it was blocking him off from someone he shouldn't remember. Or, more accurately, someone he had to forget.

That happened sometimes. Every once in a while, before he really understood what he was saying, names would spill out, names he didn't recognize, of people that didn't belong in his newer, better world. So he did his best to forget them, because if they didn't belong in his world then obviously _he_ didn't need them, because he belonged _here,_ and everything here was better, and perfect, perfect, perfect.

And he knew that, he did, but… But, sometimes….

"Alice," he said slowly, tentatively. "Do you ever think about… outside?"

She gave him a strange look. "Of course I do. I _do_ have windows and doors, you know."

"Not that outside, idiot!" Oz grumbled. Part of him wanted to stop the conversation right there, just say 'never mind' and move on, slip back into the comforting smiles, but more of him clamored to know if Alice, too, had ever wondered what exactly it was that they were missing… "I mean have you ever thought about… how we got here?"

She looked at him, just _looked,_ for a long while, her back very straight and her smile very still. It was like he had ventured from the script, and she was left fumbling for lines that weren't there. Oz drew back, fear knotting in his stomach. Had the play come to an end?

Oz wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to take the question back, to pretend he had never asked it, to return to his perfect, smiling world. He hadn't really wanted an answer anyway, had he?

Of course not. No. His world was all he wanted, because it was perfect, and those sorts of questions didn't belong here.

"What do you mean, Oz?" she asked, smiling as ever but too-loud and oddly echoing in the silence.

He couldn't pursue his original point. Couldn't and wouldn't. It was a stupid question in the first place. So he just grinned at her and said lightly, "Only wondering when exactly it was that I went insane."

For a moment she just stared at him— _at_ him? It felt more like _through_ him. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the wall, her eyes blank; and then suddenly she could she him again, and the vibrant smile was back, and everything was perfect, perfect, perfect.

"Like, you wonder what kind of day it was?" she mused. "Warm or cold? Windy? Pouring rain, like a funeral?"

"Mm, that too," said Oz. "But I was thinking more along the lines of what happened to me, that day, to make me so, ah…"

"Warped?" she suggested brightly.

"You flatter me, Alice," he said, feigning demure. "If you aren't careful you might find yourself someday dealing with a hideously inflated ego."

"And that would be different from the usual you _how?"_ Alice quipped; Oz rambled on, assiduously ignoring her.

"'Warped' is a good word. So is 'twisted,' although I don't think that it quite applies to me. Then there's 'sick,' but I've always associated that word with perverts and ill people, so it doesn't feel right either."

"How do you think you went insane, then?" the girl asked, shamelessly intrigued by this new topic.

"Well, I have no idea! Isn't that great? The possibilities are endless!" he declared happily, stretching his arms out as if to gather in all of the many potential sources of his madness. "I could have been corrupted by money, or power, or pride. I could have been rejected by my family or betrayed by my friends…."

Oz gulped down the last of his tea, and set the cup down triumphantly. Alice gave him an indulgent smile. Grinning gleefully back, Oz rose from the table and bowed with a flourish. "If you'll excuse me, Alice?"

"Be my guest," she replied.

With a smile of thanks, he turned, and stepped quietly to the patio like a man crossing sacred territory. His whole body tingled with every step, his heart hammering as the first slow, summer breeze fanned over him. He stopped by the railing and looked down, the breath catching in his throat. Alice hadn't been lying— It _was_ a long way down. Fear and exhilaration squirmed in his stomach, and when Alice spoke, her voice sounded very, very far away.

"What other possibilities are there?" she asked, a note of infatuation unmistakable in her question.

"Ah, uh…" Oz had to forcibly drag his mind back to the present, his fingers clutching the ledge in a death grip, his gaze pulled inexorably toward the dizzying drop not a foot from where he stood.

"Oh, well, I could have been tortured, of course," he told her, but his voice sounded absentminded and distant even to him. It took all of his self-control to continue standing there, speaking calmly, and not fling himself over the side. He had to make it last. He knew that.

Gradually, gradually, he lifted himself onto the ledge, feeling the stone beneath his boots, the breeze ruffling his hair. His heart stumbled over a beat as he glanced down again.

The boy closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, letting the adrenaline rush through him; almost as if he expected to fly.

Oz wondered, vaguely, Did he expect to fly?

Then he wondered, Would he?

Slowly at first, feeling where the ledge ended and the plummet began, he started to spin on the railing, as the open air wrapped up around him like a warm, weightless blanket.

"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts," he mumbled, his eyes still closed, letting his arms flap out behind him as he twirled. "All on a summer's day; The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts, and took them clean away…."

"Oz?" said Alice.

Oz smiled, still twirling, his eyes still shut, and told her calmly, "I may have discovered a truth so horrible that my mind snapped with the weight of it. You see, Alice, insanity isn't what most people seem to think it is. It can't be labeled or filed neatly into respective slots. There's nothing to compare it to. You can't just explain it away. It's untamable, it's overwhelming, and so, _so _easy. Like falling." He paused, coming slowly to a stop, facing the ground below. Then he opened his eyes, and laughed delightedly. "Any number of horrific things could have happened to me, things that I just couldn't handle. And anybody who thinks that every one of the lunatics out there has some sort of 'illness', one that can be named and categorized and patched up, is so very, very wrong.

"Because, you see, insanity is merely what happens when order doesn't work anymore. It isn't a disease— It's a state of life. That's what makes madness so… beautiful."

For a while he just stood there, smiling teasingly at her over his shoulder, daring her to try and stop him.

She simply smiled back.

"I like to think that maybe," Alice said quietly, and her smile never faltered, "maybe we were always like this. For our whole lives. Since the day we were born. Maybe we were meant for each other."

He beamed at her. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I'd like that."

And then he tilted his head back and _laughed._


End file.
